


Red Tainted Lips

by seldomabsent



Category: Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (2020)
Genre: Alcohol, Creepy neighboor, F/M, Female Reader, Harley is reader's mama, Kinda Crackish, Mad Princess!Reader, Smut, Stalking, Teasing, Voyeurism, angsty, but reader's a little shit, it's not really graphic?, not as ease yet, not much but still, she's trying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:07:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27882742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seldomabsent/pseuds/seldomabsent
Summary: it was a commission for a friend which turned into a two shot since she liked it - hope you will too!
Relationships: Roman Sionis/Reader
Kudos: 2





	1. red tainted lips

**Author's Note:**

> it was a commission for a friend which turned into a two shot since she liked it - hope you will too!

Being the daughter of the Joker and crazy queen of Gotham, it could be difficult going anywhere without receiving looks from all kinds. You grew up feeling as close and distant from your parents, the only one really trying to be here from you being your mother. But her obsession with the clown of your father sometimes prevented her from realizing how much she pushed put you aside. It’s one of the first things she apologized for after their breakup on your twenty-oneth birthday. She came to your home crying and asking for forgiveness when really, the only one you felt sorry for was her. It was the one of the first birthdays you spent together - in front of a munched cake and with old beers.

But your mom wasn’t stupid, and so weren’t you. She needed to get away from this unhealthy relationship before being able to create a new bond with you. Letting your mom get back on her feet in secret, with her own little studio, Bruce and Bernie by her side, was the only thing she asked from you and in a way, you knew she was doing better. And she seemed to get better, everyday. And soon, after your daily visits, she insisted it was something she needed to be doing alone, and alone you let her until her next call.

In conclusion, you think absentmindedly as you enter the Black Mask Club, you pretty much raised yourself by looking at how your mother acted. And sadly for Gotham, the city came to know the daughter, or the Mad Princess as they came to call you, was crazier if not scarier than the mother.

Brilliant and colorful shorts and shirt on as well as shiny high heeled shoes, you giggle as you make your way through the dancing people, finding your way to the bar in seconds. “Hello, cutie!” You call the barman, earning a shy smile. You never saw him before - might be a newbie. Long nights you’ve spent here, attracting trouble and messing with anyone annoying you. You knew everyone. And everyone knew you. But as you smirk, leaning on the bar - your deep red lipstick attracting the man’s eyes and making him lick his lips - you laugh as the thought he had no idea who you were. “Won’t you have a little something for you, big boy?” You chant, tightly grabbing his collar, your eyelined eye winking at him.

“Of course, Miss. Are you a strong one?” He teases back, not seeing from afar the pair of eyes staring at you and getting closer by the second. You act offended before pouting, earning a chuckle from him.

“Who do you think I am?” You ask naively, waiting impatiently for his answer, a huge smile on your face.

“I don’t know but I can’t wait to hear this pretty name of yours-” The sudden hand slamming in front of you makes you laugh loudly, the familiar scent of the body close behind you making the scene even more hilarious. You get to see the life leave any traits of the cute bartender’s face, turning him into a stuttering mess who leaves the second the hand waves him away. You turn on yourself, your face inches away from the Club’s owner and just to happen to be one of your mother’s favorite things to play with. You spread your arms on his shoulders to lock your hands behind his head, battling your eyelashes eagerly.

“Mr. Rocco! How is my favorite narcissist tonight? Still playing with yourself and wrecking your little hand? Where is your adorable bleached leech?” Roman scoffs, stepping away quickly - too quickly - eyeing you up and down with annoyance. Still, your lipstick stretches your fully toothed smile to your ears as you step toward him like a prey, laughing at the fun he gave you.

“Enough, Quinn. I thought it was clear you weren’t supposed to come back thanks to your mother’s.. Let’s call them ‘incidents’.” He spits, keeping his face up and his eyes in yours - you smirk. You annoyed him, to hell and back, yet he didn’t want to back down from your little staring contest and stalking. You get closer and closer until you put your chest against his, barely reaching his eyes level.

“You’re breaking my heart, Rocco. Here I thought you missed me!” You pout again before breaking into a chuckle and turning your back on him. “I know you don’t mind having me around.” You dance a little in front of him, taunting with a grin. “You wouldn’t want to anger me and make me burn the whole thing down? Worse, I could show up in your room, late at night..” You purr as you get closer, making him tense up more with the second. “Find you in your, I’m sure, silk pajamas- maybe even with your own face on it.. And just, surprising you.” You get close enough to breathe on his face, the scent of the mint you had before hitting his lips. “Would a blowjob or a circumcision be more surprising?” You ask, your fingers holding his chin tight before cackling at his livid face and turning away to the dancefloor. “Thanks for your authorization to let me stay, Mr. Rocco!”

You played with fire, you think to yourself as you dance away, grabbing left mojitos and whiskies left on tables - getting dizzy by the second but driven by the music. You always did this, making yourself enemies all over town, maybe even more than your parents. The psycho-analysis would surely say something like your desperate need to be noticed and paid attention to to compensate for your lack of emotional bonds and parenting, but you were happy telling yourself it were because everyone’s faces were hilarious to look at after annoying them till their breaking point. You’re sure the beating of the music is in your ribcage now, each of the drops making your body shake.

Maybe you drank too much, you think as you have trouble focusing on the out of tune ringtone. Your phone, your brain finally makes you realise. Your phone is ringing, you dumbass - you’re pretty sure someone told you. Turning, you indeed see a pissed of woman, frowned and eyes heavy. Long strained mascara taints her cheeks and you feel bad for her and her wild cocktail in front of her, sitting alone in a huge booth. Dropping to her side with as much class as a gorilla, you slide with humps toward her until you’re close enough to wrap an arm around her shoulder.

“You’re right, beautiful. Thanks for helping me!” Your intoxicated voice says cheerfully before leaning on her. She clearly doesn’t expect your lips to melt on hers and it’s as she gasps that your tongue enters her mouth. She is shy at first but desperately hangs on your lips after a moment - and it’s pushing her away that you answer your phone. “Hello, how can I brighten your day?” You wink to the stranger as you drink in her cocktail and stand up back again, waiting for the other person to reveal their identity. Her soft call amused you as you glance at her, her cheeks hot and clearly troubled. Your lipstick is surely now a mess but you don’t really care as the voice finally gets clearer on the other side of the line. “Mom?”

Never have you ever walked so fast outside the club as drunk as you are right now. Stumbling over your heels, you curse as you frown to understand the weeping but alarmed voice. You try to understand the confused words but you quickly understand she’s as sober as you. You close your eyes, hoping it’ll help the throbbing headache coming full force, but no luck for you. And little did you notice, as you reach the dark alley, the line finally getting clear and your mom’s cries shouting at you, it’s too late before a heavy bottle crashes on your head. “They know, baby! You have to come home, they know-”

It’s hard at first to understand where you are. Like any bad hungover morning, you hope you’re at least at home and not already in the hurry to leave without a sound. Battling your eyes, you frown at the dark surrounding you. For a second, you wonder if you even have your eyes open until a sharp light blinds you.

“Fucking hell-” You close you eyes, shaking your head to make the lighting stop before groaning at the headache it causes you. Your hangover is still pretty much here, you forgot. Taking your time to get used to the lamp in your face, you blink before looking around you. You notice the thick rope keeping each of your legs to the stool you’re sitting on. Your wrists are tied behind your back and from the feeling of it, you’re pretty sure it’s a cable tie. You wince as you move. No, multiple cable ties. This makes you smile. How dangerous did they think you were?

You’re honored to be kidnapped, mostly amazed by the success of it - not everyone dared to kidnap you, of all people. Firstly because of your parents’ reputation, but secondly because of you. You were a nightmare to anyone, now they wished to be stuck with you in a room? Poor people. And at the same time, your heart aches at the thought that this time, even less than the others, no one would come to help you. Your mom wasn’t strong enough, or just didn’t care enough. Like your father. You breathe deeply, forcing a smile on your lips to think of something else - a dry maniac laugh following your hurtful throat.

Looking back up, you smile as you recognized the person holding the lamp. “Victor! My man!” You sing as you tilt your head to the side. “Say, you sexy leech, would you mind giving me a hand? With the tying I mean.” You smirk as he reciprocates the same crook smile, turning only to tighten your hands together. You could feel the plastic cutting into your skin and after wincing voicelessly, you feel the bruises forming. Soon the blood will follow if he doesn’t stop tightening it. Or you’ll lose your hands from the garrote! You laugh at the thought.

“Is it better, Princess?” He says mockingly and without skipping a beat, you smile cheerfully, wiggling your eyebrows. Steps are getting closer and you’re sure of what follows.

“Tight and hard - just how I like it!” You laugh as Victor clearly forces his hand away from his knife - the desire to cut you up right here and now resonating in every movement of his.

“Enough.” Roman’s voice resonates in the cold large room, men not far behind. He appears in front of you, his bed hair and long silk dressing gown silk making you puff.

“Nice dress, Rocco.” You let out in a shaky breath, barely controlling the amusement from your voice.

“I said, enough.” He repeats coldly, hands on his hips, before turning to Victor. “Why is she awake? And why am I?” He asks.

He is clearly annoyed, you notice. You’re not really surprised - he wouldn’t come off to you as someone who likes to have obstacles in his plans. And whatever his plan was, you being all cheery though a little sick at.. three in the morning if you read his watch correctly - it probably wasn’t a pleasant surprise to see you.

“She woke up. I thought she was having it bad.” You frown as you look down your legs and feet. “You said you wanted-”

“Hey, where are my shoes? Those were my favorites, not cool guys, I got them from a really nice lady. I stole those first, you can’t stole them too! They won’t even fit you, I deserve to know where they ended up!” Your little interjection didn’t seem to amuse them as much as you - Roman leaning closely and harshly grabbing your chin.

“I said, en-” He starts spelling, eyes deep in yours, but the proximity only makes you cheeky.

“Enough, yes. I got it, I think we all did. But the question is, or what?” You cut him. You see the anger- no, the rage, passing through his eyes. You still don’t step back, even leaning on him, waiting for his next move. But nothing comes, much to your disappointment. He lets go of your face, stepping back, but he keeps his eyes on you. And suddenly, you see. The look in his eyes, his posture, the way his fists tighten, the redness of his cheeks.. He reminds you of Bruce, right before he jumps on his steak. You grin at your comparaison.

“Out.” His voice surprised you, and, much to your dismay, you’re sure your face shows it. Victor too looks just as shocked, quickly turning to his boss. He opens his mouth but Roman doesn’t give him time to say anything. “Everyone out. I’ll take care of her myself, right here, right now.” Victor frowns at him for a moment, trying once more to talk to him out of it but Roman’s lifted hand makes him step back. Quietly agreeing to give him his knife, he hands it to him and leaves with the rest of the men. “Nobody gets in until I’m done.”

The room is silent, too silent for you. Your thoughts are running wild and you’re scared if you don’t let them out like you’re used too, your head will explode. But as the eyes of Roman still don’t leave yours, your lips only grow a bigger smile.

“Now, Rocco. What do you intend to do to me? I have to admit, I’m really curious.” You state, leaning forward. He seems to think a little more before getting closer and grabbing a fist of your hair. You can’t even joke on his rough ways before he continues to walk behind you, forcing the stool to roll on the floor. He eventually let go, getting down to reach your eye level just to grab your face in place again. You chuckle at the proximity found again, smooshing at him, making him steps back in a jolt. Was that fear on his face?

“I want to kill you. Because without your dad and your waste of a mother around.. I can. For all your noise and bluster, you’re just a..” He frowned, as if he was disturbed by your large smile. “A silly little girl.” The words are like venom in his mouth. “With no one around to protect her.” He finishes, leaning back to you and grabbing your hair with his hand holding the knife.

“Is that so?” You mock, amused. “Well go on, big boy. It’s just you and me. I can even show you how to if you need help.” The confusion from your lack of self-perseverance turning fast into an angry glare. He has enough of you. You’re pushing him to the edge of his patience, and you know he already fought himself past his limits.

“No.” You’re surprised once more as the knife slides down your bare legs, cutting the ropes. His hand roughen up your arm, forcing you up. He pushes you against the only other furniture, a couch - making you fall on your butt. You chuckle at the comfort and soft fabric - it’s surely from here that he admires the torture from his kidnappings. Yet, at the moment, he seems to be the one tortured.

He seems to think for a moment before pushing you around, face in the cushion.

“You know how to seduce a girl, Rocco, really love your sweet talk.” You tease before gasping at the feelings of your hands getting free, not without a few cuts. Thrown once more on your back, you smirk at Roman looking down on you. He seems truly conflicted about what to do. “Are you gonna fuck me or kill me? I’m lost now, Rocco.” It seems to settle his anger as he pushes you away from the couch, sitting himself down before pointing the knife at you.

“Strip.” You stand in front of him, confused with a blank face on before chuckling loudly. “I said, strip!”

“I heard you the first time. You know, a please could be really appreciated.” You poke fun at him, adoring the frustration and irritation on his face.

“How can someone be so fucking stubborn- Just fucking strip!” He gets angrier, raising on his feet and pressing the knife under your chin.

You chuckle at his red face, putting your hands behind your back as you press down the knife to lean towards him, not caring of the cut it causes - focused only on the eyes staring down in yours. “Why don’t you help?” You sneer and he doesn’t know what technique to adopt.

On one part, he actively wants to gut you alive, pour every once of annoyance, anger and frustration you brought him inside you by cutting into your skin and hearing your screams of pain - but one another.. Your red tainted lips are frustrating him. They’re taunting him like never before and he doesn’t know if he can fight the urge mess even more with the lipstick. You seem to decide for your state- At the sight of your teeth poking out to bite the said desired lips, the knife is soon on the floor with his plan and convictions. Replaced by his hand, the hold on your neck is tight and similar to the way your hands go to mess with his hair, your lips crashing against one another. Blood starts to mess his grip but he doesn’t care anymore as you both fall back on the couch.

Roman angrily pulls your hair out of your face, keeping a bloody grip on them to prevent them from falling back and pushing you closer against him, his other hand keeping your waist against his pelvis - your spread legs trapping him under you, away from the knife. But it’s a far forgotten detail in the ecstasy of the moment, not that he truly cared. Your hands quickly found their way under his dress, alternating between pulling him closer, playing with the sensible skin and pushing him away to keep the dominance in your messy disorganised kiss.

Moans start leaving his throat as you grind against the aching boner forming in his pants and you chuckle when his nails digs in your skin. He clenches on your shorts, desperately trying to increase the pressure and bringing you closer to him. Catching your breath for a second, you take in the sight of one of the most feared man of Gotham completely at the mercy of your hips. It brings another laugh from you to see him so vulnerable but his hand quickly finds his way back to your neck, choking you just enough to stop the amused noises - yet, not expecting a long moan to replace them.

“You’re not enjoying this.” He tries to convince you, being as menacing through his shaky breaths as he could - impossible to keep his hand away from you, one keeping your lips on his and the other chasing the warmth of your skin under your shirt.

“I wouldn’t dare to even think of it,” You sass, and frustration hits him annoyingly. He pushes you down on him more roughly, getting another involuntary moan from you, and he does his best to keep the face. He tries to be bothered by your clear enjoyment but the heat of your hands on his chest and the expression on your face make him eager by the minute to take this damn shirt of yours off. So revealing and yet so concealing - it drives him crazy everytime you enter his club. How can you be so annoying and frustrating yet so attractive and tempting? Why is your face so arousing, even more now, closer and beautifuller than you’ve ever been?

Yet while he’s losing his mind on the rhythm of your hips against him, you scoff under your breath as you hear fighting outside getting closer and closer. ‘Not yet,’ you think selfishly, rubbing harder, encouraged by the hand holding you down and the lips moaning deeply in your ear.

Again pressing your lips against his by pulling his hair back, it takes everything from you to pull away - perfectly aware than in a moment, you’ll have to leave. You enjoy the last seconds of the tongue dancing with yours before pushing on his chest to stand back up, ready to jump on your feet off from the moaning mess Roman become- “Stay.”

Roman looks as surprised as you by his plea, his cheek reddening even more. He was so far in his please, let himself get so vulnerable the bare thought of you even leaving to breathe scared him. Shock meets anger shortly and before he can put on the mast and roughten you up more - you jump of him as the door bursts open.

Harley appears amused from her fights though you could recognize her worry hidden in her eyes and she doesn’t waste time to hug you and not even sparing a glance at Roman, surely not even noticing him, before leading you out.

And even if you follow, you didn’t break the exchange look with the man nor do you miss to mouth a sincere apology as you escape the Sionis mansion - the look of betrayal, confusion and loss of the man burnt in your brain.


	2. silver lining

Getting you out of the Sionis’ manor, the deep fresh air helped you calm down and lie easier to your mother when she asked what happened. You got to finish your hangover at her place, meeting her in the bathroom to throw up occasionally through the night and ending up talking and laughing til you both fell asleep on the tiles - waking up to the smell of a fresh bought egg sandwich she loved so much.

It’s surprising to have a somehow normal breakfast with her, both of you lying back against her couch, some cartoons playing as background noise, but not as surprising as her scolding. Pinching your cheek and slapping playfully your ankle for being so careless. You would lie if you say you don’t feel warm at her words. Your mother? Finally expressing her care and worry for you? It’s not something you ever expected. She never clearly stated her love to you, only for your father. You thought you were barely a show off or generous prize for keeping up with him for so long.

But you quickly choke on the bread as her teasing lips finally break the heavy lie you told her a few hours ago.

“So, Romy, huh?” She laughs at your choking, gently tapping your back as you chew down the rest of your bite. “You should have told me sooner.” You shake your head, laughing along awkwardly.

“Okay, I’ll stop you right here, Mom - there’s nothing with Rocco.” You roll your eyes at the thought. “You’re into weird guys - I’m into this egg sandwich.” You chuckle, biting another piece of the bread between your perfect white teeth.

“Hu-uh.” She hums, keeping her eyes on you. Finishing her sandwich, she analyses the lipstick messed up around your lips, the folds of your shirt, the weird crack on your shorts.. The strong smell of alcohol and sweat coming from you. She chuckles under her breath. As if she didn’t already know, the most obvious clue was probably the second she entered the room - the look of pure panic on yours and Roman’s face. He was probably shocked to see her here but you.. You looked panicked at the fact she would know about your secret. She sighs as you finish yours too. Do you think she’s blind? “No. Go shower you little rascal. Throw something cute on - we’re partying tonight.”

You frown at her for a second, your current state against the idea but in the end, you didn’t have better to do. And too happy to spend time with your mother after weeks of isolation, you weren’t going to say no to some bonding time.

Shaking her head, she finishes her sandwich as you turn the water on. Either way, she was happy to see you still kept control over your emotions and the situations - even when screwing around with the most dangerous man of Gotham at the moment.

Thinking back on how quick you agreed to this night out, actually celebrating your kidnapping and reunion was something - to say the least. Getting utterly wasted and being offered drinks in every bar, you did your best from your high shoes to keep balance as you and your mom enter, arm in arm, clubs after clubs. Some girls followed along, and guys, amused to see the new Harley kicking back into the world after dealing with all her grievances.

The party went one, drinks after drinks, the music getting louder, but after falling back into the booth of your little group, you pout at your loneliness. Your feet were killing you and your head was this close to burst. Which meant only one thing could help you..

“Another drink, please!” You say, falling over the counter after your crazy run to it. You laugh at how offended the people leave at your arrival, leaving you alone to face the bartender coming to you. A drunken gasp escapes your lips before quickly hiccuping a chuckle. “I know you!” You joyly chant, your finger pointing the man’s nose.

“I sure hope you remember me, Miss.” The bartender from Roman’s club greets you, a soft smile of his lips. You’re amused to see him again, once more asking him to surprise you until to frown quickly, almost lying on the counter to get closer to him.

“What happened to your face?” You asked concerned and confused, your hand automatically softly cupping his cheek to examine his wounds. He jolts back, making you frown even more before laughing it off.

“Nothing.. I just got fired from the Black Mask Club.” You say nothing, your fingers gently leaving his face before helping you stand on the marble wall between you two.

“Is it better here?” You try to change the conversation, the tension between his eyebrows leaving a little. You smile at him and he blushes as he smiles too.

“It is.” He states, pushing a colorful cocktail in front of you. “Here you go. Hope it pleases you Mad Princess.” You lift an eyebrow, surprised to see he came to know who you are but don’t push too much of it as you taste the rainbow liquid.

Humming as the sweet yet bitter taste hits your mouth, making your smile wider on your newly redden lips. “It’s perfect. Thank you handsome.” You wink, sitting down on the high stool, deciding to stick with the stranger. He was cute, he was giving you drinks, freely it seemed, you weren’t getting off of this offer.

“Name’s James.” Your smile wides.

“James, huh?” His cute grin makes you chuckle. You stay quiet, finishing the refiled glass. Playing with the straw in your mouth, you observe him. His blush deepens more and more if possible under your gaze. He clearly is searching for his words and you’re just curious to see what seems to embarrassed him so much.

“I.. Are you alone?” He finally stutters out, making you grin.

“Maybe. Are you interested?” Yes, his blush surely can deepen.

“I- I am.” He looks awkwardly honest, getting an amused laugh out of you. “I’m just worried you’re all alone by this state. I mean.. It’s not safe for a beautiful woman like you to leave like that.”

You loudly laugh at this, feeling more than secured now with the high grams of alcohol than you probably should. Yet, nothing scares you right now, especially at the cold feeling of the knife always hiding under your bra. You jump to your feet, maybe a little too fast your dizzy head notes, and grab his collar.

“You’re cute James. I like you. But I know how to take care of myself.” You kiss his cheek, leaving a deep red trace of your lips before slipping a paper in his shirt. “If by any means, though, you feel alone.. You’ll know where to find me.”

You chuckle as he blabbers, trying to go as far as stealing you a kiss but you’re already far away and leaving. Giving him your understand is probably stupid but, again, all your ideas seem perfect at the moment! Joining back the now sited group you came with, you smile at your mom. The way she looked at the hot man by her side, hooked her arm with his and not leaving him alone made you laugh, helping you feel less bad to leave her with the group. Telling the heavy drinkers that you’re going home only after the fifth club makes you feel like the worst deliverer of bad news - the sudden cries and pleads to stay coming from everyone. But, your mom still eventually lets you go after some convincing, leaving you a huge kiss on your forehead. Waving your hand to them, you stumble on your way out of the club and into the dark streets of Gotham.

The fresh air entering your lungs felt like coming out of the water, the dense and strong smell of the club leaving you a little more, each step you take. The sense of alcohol and need for air were getting stronger and stronger in your system for at least the last two hours and now you feel relieved. Enjoying the way the cool wind played with your hair, making the large shirt dance, cooling the heat of your skin through your large fishnet tights under your high-waisted short. Your high heeled shoes are quickly in your hands, the ache it brought you unbearable. Dancing drunkenly, your steps brought you closer to the door of your hidden little studio.

Not many people know where you lived - only your mother and occasional one night stands. But you were cautious to always end at their places rather than yours, you didn’t need lost puppies to wander around your sanctuary.

Finally reaching the building door, you sigh at the sight of your gross floor neighbor, looking down on you through the little gap of his door. You get up the twelve stairs, counting them to help you balance and reach the first floor without falling down. You kindly greet the old stalker with your middle finger, hoping he would stick it to his old harassing ass and leave you alone for the night. Your only other neighbor with the missing owner, he was truly the only bad thing to this building. You truly wished he would choke on your stolen panties before you lose it and stab him the next time you find him at the laundry room in your machine.

The sound of his chuckles angers you as you struggle to open your door without turning to push the keys in his face. Finally opening the dark apartment, you turn to see him admiring you, a disgusting grin on his face. “I’m still waiting to get back my undies, you asshole!” You slam the door, locking right away out of habit and paranoia. “Fucking creep..” You whisper under your breath, throwing your keys in the little bowl next to your door. Switching the lights on, you sigh once more.

The moonlight shines through the little windows on the wall, showing your little couch tv and little kitchen on both sides of the main entrance. Yet you don’t stop to admire the calm and peace, dropping the shoes by the door and going on a straight line to get to the opened bed room in front of you.

Opened?

You stop in your steps. The bedroom’s door face directly the front door - and you clearly remember seeing it close the last time you left. Standing in front of the dark room, the close shutters prevent the moonlight to help you this time. You slowly pass your hand under your shirt, getting the sharp knife in your hands while lifting your other hand to switch the light. Your eyes grow wild at the man sitting in your bed.

“If I may..” Roman looks around disgusted, drinking what looked like whisky from your favorite glass. Your eye twitches. He entered your house who-knew-how, drank your whiskey in your Tweety and Sylvester mug? “You have a terrible way to live, Quinn.”

“You may not.” It takes everything from you not to throw a fight - not when he has the lives of Tweety and Sylvester at hand - and you resume to cross your arms. “What are you doing here?” You hiss, barely standing still in your hopefully intimidating posture.

Roman doesn’t seem impressed, pointing behind you. “What is your problem with the.. Gentleman living next door?” You frown, turning to your front door before facing him again. If you were more focused on not falling, you’d probably see the anger tensing his face.

“Frank? He’s a fucking creep. Broke in here and watched me sleep for months before I realised. Tried to get me into bed before I broke his nose. Now, he steals my panties. Average asshole.” you state, unbothered and too used to your weird neighbor’s behaviour to be bothered.

You catch a glimpse of rage in his blue icy eyes but forget about it the second the first wave of nausea hits you. Quickly running to the bathroom on the right of the bedroom, you empty your stomach in the toilet - alcohol blessing you after this hours of party.

Roman’s disgusted face intensified as he turns his gaze away from you, drinking the rest of the bitter alcohol. He feels his patience running away quickly, the need to pass his nerves on your neighbor getting stronger by the second. He stands up and goes back to your little open kitchen putting the childish glass in the sink with a scoff. Not that he would admit he only took it because of it’s funny cartoon.

“Are you done?” He asks harshly, going back to the bedroom and standing by the bathroom’s doorway. He only got so much time to inspect the little apartment once he found it after hours of research and he was dumbfounded to what you lived in. He expected you to have a big mansion, frivolous, shiny and brightful - just like your mother. But all he found was old photo albums, books and disks laying around, organised in an old wooden bookshelf. A small couch and a little television on a box you surely found outside. Your kitchen only had a small counter, a sink and a stove. Your bathroom only has a sink, toilet and a shower, not even a bathtub!

Here you are, sitting on the little bathroom’s floor, brushing your teeth. You seemed unbothered by the simple way you lived. Even more shockingly, you seem pleased by it.

He is staggered.

You spit the excess of toothpaste down the sink, watering your mouth before turning to him suddenly, lifting your arms and waving them dramatically. “I am now!” You say joyfully, seeing the ghost of a smirk appearing on his lips before your body lets you down and falls ungracefully, getting you on your butt. Roman rolls his eyes, flushing the toilet and walks towards you. He lifts you up roughly, dragging you out by your arm and throwing you on your bed.

“Now, we need to talk.” He says roughly, cursing as you mess with his jacket laid under you. “Can you stop fucking everything up- For fuck’s sake!” He pushes you to get his jacket now wrinkled. He growls, the frustration you bring him always so annoyingly enraging. Why couldn’t it be easy, like it always been when it’s not you?

Your eyes blink the tiredness away, soon the sight of Roman pissed and red doing the trick - your dazed mind already picturing him in all different kinds of ways. “So you think it’s time? You’re ready to have the talk?” You say, somewhat, seriously before sitting up, shaking your head dramatically while patting the space beside you - inviting him to sit. He only frowns as you, ready for the next annoyance to upset him. “It think it’s good to finally talk about how gloves can hurt your wanker’s dick. You’re seeking help, I’m reassured.”

He tries to be annoyed and pissed by the way your smile explodes on your face and makes your eyes close, your face lighten up. He is in a way, his gloved hands tightening in fists. Yet, he still curses himself to stare for too long at this beautiful view of you laughing thanks to him.

“Now you listen,” He grabs a handful of your hair, making you gasp but not stop laughing much to his annoyance. “You shut the hell up. We weren’t done last time, and this time, I don’t want to hear your little giggles.” You look up at him, your lips pouting eagerly, your eyes teary thanks to the light directly in your eyes.

“But Roman, I had to leave.”

His voice gets caught up in his front. You’re frustrating as ever yet, he can hear sincerity and sadness in your voice. You take the opportunity of his surprise to jump down between his legs, his surprise making his hand let go of your hair and letting you roll free. Standing back on your feet, you fight the dizziness, an arm quickly finding its way around your waist. You take support of it before the arm starts to drag you toward the front door, smirking at Roman’s close proximity. Smooching his nose, you take in his troubled expression before sliding the knife out of your bra to hold it to his neck.

You smirk as you’re finally the one in balance, his grip on your waist still hard but at the mercy of the blade against his artery. You push him down on your bed, your face as close as possible to his without actually touching him. “Now, Rocco.. I’d love to finish what we started, but I’m really tired and I’m expecting company pretty quick.” You grin knownlingly, sending involuntary the blade directly through his heart. He feels wrath eating him at the thought of you letting someone touch you, feel you, have you. Someone other than him. He bits his lips, the reminder of the effects of your capable hands on people. He saw you torture people, be it to defend yourself or others, and he had trouble hiding the effect it had on him. Pretty much as intense at the thought of knowing you could let someone else take control over you.

One brought arousal, dependency and need for your body against his while the other attracted all the wrath, disgust and need for blood on his hands.

“What’s happening, Rocco? Cat got your tongue?” You tease and he wishes he could make you shut up, preferably with his mouth. You chuckle and tap his cheek with your free hand, your teeth gently biting his lip, playing with his nerves, before getting back up. “Good boy.” He curses his body for the jolt of pleasure he gets from this simple praise, a stupid one he may add, and tries to move to show his discontentment only getting another chuckle. “Now, I don’t have much time, so sadly, you’re gonna have to go.” His eyes darken, the hate and frustration you bring him starting to hit the top only to worsen as you push him slowly to your front door. “Maybe I’ll keep my promise to come and check on you later. We never know.” His eyes grow as you push him against the wooden door but as you grab the key to open it to the unstable man half enraged, half horny, a knock surprises you both.

“Y-Y/N?” The voice is hesitant yet hopeful. He sounds so sweet. Too sweet, you think disappointed. You’re gonna be bored from this fuck, you know it already. But your fun quickly comes back at Roman’s heated expression. Still pressing the knife to his neck, you point your lips and forces him toward you, slowly taking him to the first window leading to the fire exit.

“Coming, James.” You chant back sweetly, adoring the anger it brings in Roman’s eyes. “Give me a minute and I’ll be all yours.”

It takes everything from you to push Roman outside the window without him escaping and probably taking you here and there. You pout at the thought as you slam the window shut. “Aww man..” You think sadly. “Why do I always get late good ideas..” Still you wave at him through the other side of the glass before closing the curtain.

Now you’re really not into the mood to actually spend time with James, you only wanted to fuck around with Roman. And you did good - the heat from your skin and the terrible ache between your legs are tiring you more than anything now that Roman is out of the apartment.

Still you force a smile on your lips to turn the key and open slightly the door, James’ glowing face appearing.

“Hey James,” You start softly, a little yawn escaping your lips. “I’m sorry I don’t feel so good.. I think I’m gonna have to pass on our plans. Maybe come another time? You know what, I’ll come and get you at the club. This way we’ll be on the same page. Goodnight!” You begin closing the door but your feet prevent you to. Frowning, you gasp silently at James’ dark face.

“.. No.” He finally stated, making you blink in confusion before falling backward as he forces the door open. “You said you’ll be all mine.” He roughly grabs your arm but unlike Roman, you don’t feel comfortable - you don’t feel safe. Your heart starts to beat rapidly but you wave it off with another smile.

“Hey, kiddo, be kind and step out now. I told you I’m not in the mood.” You state clearly, trying to get away from his grasp but he drags you to your bed. Panic is sinking steadily in you now as you hear the bedroom door’s slam and James’ bruised face get closer. How did you think this guy was cute earlier? You roll your eyes. The fucking club lights. Only Roman looks as heavenly in those than in plain lights. You frown at your own thoughts. Rocco was what, now?

“You think you can play around like that, you cunt?” He says aggressively, pressing you down on the mattress while you aim for your hidden knife only to freeze. Your knife! Flashbacks of the blade falling out with Roman out the window makes you want to throw your own self out the window. At least Roman would be there to entertain her. “Bitches like you think you can play around all you want, huh!”

He aggressively presses his hand down your throat, the other quickly ripping your belt out of your shorts, throwing it away and slapping you in the process.

“Listen boy, I’m getting tired of you.” You growl under your breath as the sting of the leather stays in your cheek. “I’ll give you five seconds to apologize and step the fuck away.”

You kind self is gone now, your smile dropping and your eyes hardening. You gave too much acting away by now. You’re raw. The man on you seems surprised but too caught on his own hurt ego to stop. Big mistake, you think for him as his hands start creeping under your shirt.

Five.

His hand is hesitant and clearly unexperimented as he struggles to unhook it through your back. First, the hook is on the front, second, you’re certainly not gonna help him.

Four.

He starts getting annoyed by his own stupidity, cursing and pressing harder on your windpipe in search of stress relief.

Three.

A weird bolt is heard from the front door but you don’t really pay attention. It’s probably just Frank.

Two.

The sound of Frank’s steps are getting closer and louder. James’ exasperation to find the hook is making him breathe heavier.

One.

The door opens wild and as the count reaches down, your hand reaches for James’ groin.

Bewildered, the barman screams at his crushed genitals, your sudden stand up making him hold his bleeding busted lips before your feet lift to his ribcage and push him off you to knock him off on the wall.

Groaning deeply, you stand back up to see Roman out of breath and confused at what he just witnessed. He takes your messy clothes and pissed face before turning to the unconscious man. His brain overheats at the rush of emotions he got, from seeing you getting attacked to running around the house to witnessing you kicking the man’s ass and destroying any of his hopes for children. A man he already personaly saw for the same issue.

He gets brought back to reality as a hand grabs his collar. He’s ready to shout at you about the price of his cloth you’re wrinkling before your lips crush against his. His mind process quickly stops his rush of thoughts to get you closer and with less clothes and his hands let go of your and his knife to find your hips.

Pulling you closer, your tongues soon battle for dominance until you’re both out of breath, feeling hot and needy - yet you manage to push him away as he leans back to you, ready to drop on you on the bed.

“Let’s get out of here.” You whisper under your breath. You don’t know how he managed to shut up or just not argue about it but after a second of silence, his hand guides you out, barely giving you time to catch your things, getting you in his car - no personal driver, you notice - and in no time, you’re arrived in his mansion - and most particularly, his bedroom.

You’ve heard a lot about the Sionis’ bedroom, all kinds of tales going through a sex heaven to pure torture chamber but you don’t expect it to be so.. Simple. The bed is huge and weirdly round but all that surrounds you are pieces of art going through statues to paintings. While you expected chains and weird bdsm structures, you get a peacefully and actually really interesting design.

But you don’t get much time to focus on that, Roman’s body quickly locking with your back after locking the door. His hands are working on taking off your shirt, his lips devouring your necks, leaving bite marks and hickeys to your shoulders. The lights dimmed and reddish yet his dark hungry eyes are always so out of place and clear as you turn to face him. Barely having time to take his beauty, he falls down on you, your knee bending as they hit the mattress. Like an hungry wolf on his prey, he doesn’t leave his lips off you, kissing your lips before getting down your neck and give it more hickeys. Your hands are fighting with his damn shirt, cursing at all the buttons before giving a sharp push and making it open - buttons flying everywhere.

He stops for a second, looking at the mess you made and getting ready to be angry before his breath gets caught in his throat. Your swollen lips are partly open, breathing out deeply, your exposed skin reddened by his sweet tortures, and your eyes, gosh, those eyes. They make you look so needy, attentive - they’re calling for him.

There is not fake laugh or dramatisation. There is just you, and him.

You’re real.

He takes out his shirt, letting it join yours, and passes his hands under your thighs, lifting you up higher on his silk bed. Your hands quickly messing with his hair to bring him closer urges him to press down your lips - gaining a delicious moan from you. He struggles to take you out these darm shorts of yours, recognizing it from your shared night not so long ago. He growls as the jeans fight against him before pushing it down in a rough movement. The moaning gasp you let go makes his heart skip a beat and he’s sure he’s now addicted to it.

The tight soon follows the shorts out of the bed, the sight of you in your simple underwear making his head spin. How can you be so outrageously so attractive? So beautiful? He thinks- no, he’s sure he’s going crazy. He’s getting crazy, more than he already was - and all of this for you.

“Fuck,” Is all he manage to word out, his tongue follows your jaw, adoring the taste of your skin. Your hands are sliding down his back and he does his best to contain the moans from leaving this throat. Seemingly, any touch you made on him drove him to the edge. The familiar ache in his pants is getting stronger as you reach them, teasingly passing in front of his bulge. He hisses as you finally grab him through the fabric, breathing out a shaky breath at the sensation.

He had a lot of sleepless nights in this very same bed trying to ease his fantasies and imagine the feeling you could bring him but nothing his hand would do could compare to your actual touch.

Leaving your hot skin, he quickly pulls them down, his hands then working on getting you out of your bra only to frown. Your voice lets the sweetest and softest laugh he ever heard. Looking down at you, he feels this weird feeling coming again. It’s not lust. It’s not hatred. It could be close to affection - the urge to protect you and hurt terribly everyone crossing your feelings. The peace you bring just by one look. The warmth he got the first time he helped your drunken ass out of his club before his men get you to his guest room. The way you fell into his arms and trusted him without even knowing who he was. Or maybe you did. Which only worsen the swelling in his heart. The list is longer than he likes to admit but he knows he can add the need to hear this heavenly sound everyday, every hours, every minutes, every seconds of the day.

“It’s on the front.” You whisper, your voice low and always so addictive. Finally leaving your darken eyes, he sees the hook and lets him free in a matter of seconds, still understanding how it works. He’s more used to being taken care of than taking care of but he can’t stop himself. He wants you all for himself. And by the sinful sounds you leave as he takes your sensitive nipples between his lips, he is more than encouraged to go on.

The hands back on his hair fulfills him with an incomprehensible need to do more and more and it’s without thinking that he slowly gets down on your ribs, your stomach, your hip until his fingers gets to the side of your panties. A sudden wave a rage takes over him as he remembers the way Frank looked at you when you got home, having seen all from his dark hideout. He groans deeply as he takes painfully slow the fabric down your leg, throwing it away, somewhere this asshole would never be able to catch it.

Your hands tuck uncontrollably at his hair as his tongue makes its way up your thighs, kissing and bruising them until he reaches his due heaven and your voice gets even louder. His tongue tastes you for the first time, he hopes, of many, and he makes sure to know how every twist, sucking and moaning makes you react - your red face covered by your hand bothering him. Not leaving his quest to ease your need for his tongue and his undelectable thirst for you, his hand grabs your wrist, pulling your hand in his as he sees all the stage of pleasure getting lost on your face. He gets eager to see the final one, but he suddenly stops as you push him away. Getting frustrated at himself in case he did something wrong and at you for stopping him to taste any more of your delicious, he pants as you push him on his back.

He glares as you seem to leave, quickly grabbing your ankle only to step back down as you turn back to him. Crawling on his hip, he snarls as he feels the heat of your core through the fabric of his boxers, the memory of the last night spent together coming back to him once more. He doesn’t even notice his hands are up your waist, pushing you down on him until you roughly grab one and tie it with your belt to his headboard. He looks confused before he fights against the restrainer, making you chuckle. Dear Lord, that sound again.

“Be a good boy, Roman. I may just help with.. This.” You emphasize, your hand sliding under his boxer. He grunts, his jaw clenched as his tied hand turns white from tigheting to much around the belt. His other hand caresses down your hip, hoping it would push you to just push yourself down on him.

And once more, the touch of his hand is nothing to yours, but certainly nothing like having you around him.

Your contained moan is exquisite and as much as he wants to create some friction between you, your blissed face could be enough to make him cum in you. He fights the need to climax, the nails in his chest and the soft pace you’re imposing him his killing him softly, but is it the sweetest torture he ever experienced.

His hand is weakly important in the rhythm you put down on him, going through helping you lift yourself up to caressing the soft skin of your stomach, chest and lips as you roll your hips on him. Grabbing your neck, he forces you down to demand your lips against his once more, never getting enough of the taste you give him. Your hands barely holding your own weight as you tire, he feels a familiar knot forming, his hand forcing you to fasten the pace. The feelings get too much as you seem close to reach your high, rocking his hips up in desperate needs to meet you there.

Ending in a rough and hard chaos of skin slapping against each other, sinful moans and messy hungry kisses, you fall on his chest as your legs go numb and he shakes the feeling of your walls clenching onto him.

It takes both of you a few minutes to actually comprehend what just happened. Roman could imagine panic rushing in him, he just fucked the most wanted dead and annoying person of Gotham next to her mom - oh God, Harley and her new mamma bear instinct, he would need to double up his garde - and Y/N could freak out to, her tying him might be her only chance of survival out of this; but in the end, neither of you did anything like that.

You didn’t say anything - you carefully untying him, Roman carefully lifting you away from him. You share a shower, rubbing away what happened down the sink. Wishing on the surface this never happened yet the sight of Roman’s chest and your shoulders push you to have another heat session under the hot water.

Back in the room you still stay silent, unusual from either of you yet a comfort comes out of it. Lying under the soft blankets, you stay at each end of it before once more, getting back together, closer than possible - legs intertwined, his head against your chest and your head in his soft wet hair.

Maybe what you did is wrong but you can’t shake the feeling that in the end, it’s the best thing that could have happened. It’ll probably stay an untold true, maybe tomorrow you’ll be back at your bickering and teasing and flirting but this, this thing you shared - you both knew it would last past the respect, the morality, just what they were expected to do, but they couldn’t care less.

Because it’s probably the most real, loved and peaceful you ever felt in your lonely complicated lives. And you won’t trade this for nothing.


End file.
